


Stories Never Told

by natsubaki



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, F/F, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tokyo Ghoul: re
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-04-26 03:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4988026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsubaki/pseuds/natsubaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What could be, what comes to pass, and what shall never be.</p><p>An ongoing collection of drabbles—speculative, wishful thinking, fantasy and reality—originally posted to Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape (Tsukiyama/Sasaki, canon divergence)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written on 09/30/2015. Speculation for chapter 47 of :re.

The blood in his veins has turned to ice, chilling him to the bone. The movements around him—slashing, twisting, arcing—muddle and slow. Time has slowed. He stops.

He shouldn’t stop. Matsumae is waiting for him.

It’s the same voice, but a different cadence. The way it sounds in the air is foreign upon his ears.

“Tsukiyama!”

Where did the honorific go? His Kaneki-kun had always used it, from the day they first met. The way he says it now feels more like a title or descriptor than a name.

His name.

Uttered from lips that haven’t spoken it in over three years. Something he’d thought he’d heard the last of, back on that rooftop, like a song lost to time.

Footsteps, even and hesitant. Then, softer, “Tsukiyama...san?”

His heart feels like a broken thing. It won’t work—it’s an engine that won’t turn, no matter how many attempts at ignition.

The key is damaged.

He shifts back on his heels, balancing his weight. Swallows hard. His vision starts to blur at the edges. He needs to leave. If he stays, he’s as good as dead.

The dead can’t save his family. The dead can’t restore it. The dead can’t help Kaneki.

He turns just enough to look behind him. Smiles. It’s weak and takes all the strength from him. The person staring back at him wears a fitted white coat and carries a long quinque in hand. It’s almost like a sword. It’s wrong.

Their roles are reversed. It must be karma.

Even now, this person is still most precious to him.

“Forgive me, but I do not have the time to stay and chat. Perhaps when we meet again, maybe over coffee...Kaneki-kun?”

Gray eyes widen. Tsukiyama thinks he sees a flash of black. He’s probably mistaken.

Sasaki’s mouth opens, but Tsukiyama doesn’t stay to listen.

 


	2. A Familiar Sight (Tsukiyama/Sasaki, canon-compliant)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written on 10/09/2015. Speculation for chapter 48 of :re.

Sasaki remembers that shape. The way it flexes and curves, sharpens to a point at the end. He’d mimicked it himself, learned its intricacies from its wielder.

It had terrified him the first time he’d seen it. A massive kagune built for destruction as well as protection. The second time, it had been offered up as his sword.

He’s seen it in battle. Viewed it up close and personal the countless times it had pinned him to the basement wall. Had traced along its smooth yet brittle exterior, the deep ridges on its surface and firm yet yielding underbelly. It had felt sleek and pliable, bizarrely akin to fish skin that had been descaled.

It’s familiar. Nostalgic. It makes his heart hurt to see it.

It would make a fine quinque.

But it’s better alive. No one could manipulate it better than its owner, use it to such brutal devastation. A koukaku is notoriously difficult to command. This person is in full control of his kagune and uses it to maximum effectiveness.

A sword and a shield: necessary objects for a knight.

Whom is this knight fighting for, this time?

Sasaki releases his kagune in response, gripping his own sword tighter in his hand. He doesn’t want it to come to this, but this man is unpredictable. He’s already lost his family and been dethroned in the space of one night. Lost his only means of escape.

Suffered through the loss of Kaneki Ken.

Should he let him go? Sasaki has a feeling that this person had been someone important to him.

They’re on borrowed time together.

Black and red eyes meet his own. There’s a grimace on the man’s face—it looks like he’s holding back tears. Sasaki knows this man has cried for him before.

“Tsukiyama...san…” Sasaki says, feeling the knife delve deeper into his chest. It might as well have been the stranger’s kagune. “Could we...please talk?”

 


	3. Soup (Touka/Yoriko, canon-compliant)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written on 10/11/2015. A little piece of domestic fluff as an exercise in procrastination.

“I came as soon as I could,” Touka says as she steps out of her shoes and unwinds the scarf from around her neck. “The cafe was unexpectedly busy today, so I had to wait until Nishiki got there to cover me.”

A pathetic cough sounds from the couch as a reply. Touka smiles sympathetically (and with a little bit of amusement) at the sight: Yoriko is bundled up to her chin with three blankets, a cooling pad stuck on her forehead, and the end of a thermometer sticking out of her mouth. The television plays some kind of drama. She looks up at Touka, lips upturned but trembling, eyes watering.

“Touka-chaaaan,” she warbles, and Touka bites her lip to keep from laughing at how cute Yoriko looks, “I feel so ill.” She looks it, too. Her skin is ashen and has a light sheen, wavy hair sticking out in soft bed head tufts.

Touka surveys the coffee table across from the couch—it’s been dragged close for easy access and is littered with cooking magazines, a half-drunk mug of hot tea, a water bottle, and various boxes of cold medicines. She frowns. “Have you eaten at all?”

Yoriko averts her eyes, nearly crossing them as she very intently stares at the thermometer. “...No,” she admits rather reluctantly.

“How will you get better if you don’t give your body what it needs?” Touka sighs. “I guess it’s good that I brought this,” she says, holding up the bag in her hand. Yoriko eyes it suspiciously.

Touka clears a space on the table and removes a large plastic container. “Don’t give me that look,” she smirks, removing its lid. A puff of steam coats her fingers with a fine mist. Touka waves her hand over it a few times before retrieving a spoon from the bag. Perching next to Yoriko on the couch, Touka dips the spoon in and offers it to Yoriko, plucking the thermometer from her lips. “Now say, ‘Ahh.’”

She makes a face unconsciously, but after a couple seconds of hesitance, Yoriko resolutely opens her mouth and accepts the spoonful of soup. Her eyes widen, cheeks instantly flushing. “So?” Touka asks, expectant.

“It’s...good,” Yoriko says, embarrassed.

Touka laughs. “It’s because I didn’t make it. I bought it from the bistro next door and only heated it up before I came over.” She offers another spoonful. “We both know I’m no cook, so you need to get better, or we’ll both starve.”

Yoriko’s brows draw together. “But Touka-chan, you-”

“-love your cooking. Very much so,” Touka cuts in before she has a chance to finish. She reaches over to brush a stray lock of hair out of Yoriko’s face. “Are you feeling worse? You’re really red right- Whoa!” Touka yelps, pushing Yoriko back. “Hey, you’re sick-”

The hands that grip her jacket pull Touka back in. Yoriko laughs and rests her forehead against Touka’s own. “Touka-chan, have you ever had a cold in your life?” Yoriko laughs, giving her a pointed look. Touka can feel her own cheeks start to heat up.

She’s never been able to deny her anything, after all these years. Yoriko closes her eyes, and Touka leans in, bridging the gap between their lips.


	4. Aftermath (Urie, canon-compliant)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally written on 02/01/2016.

In the end, he couldn’t take the credit. Urie had fought with the ghoul before, had sliced his quinque through it, held its life within his hands as he’d applied constrictive pressure to its windpipe. He still remembers how the skin had pulsed defiantly between his grip. But it had escaped, twice over. 

And now there are conflicting reports. First Class Sasaki had thrown it over the side of the building. It had jumped on its own accord. It had died all the same, but not by Urie’s hand. Not his kill. 

The kagune had been difficult to work with: deformed and uncooperative. Chigyou-sensei had still been able to transform it into a quinque, although unwieldy. Sasaki had refused ownership. As reinstalled leader of the Quinx squad, Urie could have taken it, but instead it sits in storage, awaiting a master to come claim it. Using it would have undoubtedly felt strange: he feels no right to it despite having set it as his mark—yet another thing Sasaki had taken from him and abandoned. He has a new quinque, now, comprised of the ghoul who had taken Shirazu’s life. 

He’s not like Shirazu. He feels no guilt in taming the thing that had murdered his comrade, commanding it to strike down other ghouls. The fucking monstrosity was just one huge mouth anyway, so it feels right to feed it the lives of its kin. Perhaps one day, it will kill someone important to the ghoul—a macabre equal exchange. But it will never be enough.

Urie thinks about that ghoul often. It had been a girl, probably not much older than he. She had met a messy end, her brain splattered across pavement. An instant death.

Maybe it had been better that way. She hadn’t gone like Shirazu, losing his grip on reality as he’d slowly bled out. Perhaps she had had a moment to accept her imminent death, mid-fall. Shirazu had fought until the end. Sometimes, Urie still feels his cold hand in his.

No. Urie is not like Shirazu. He won’t—cannot—feel sympathy for a ghoul, even if he’s steadily turning into one. They are heartless creatures, self-serving and controlled by base instinct. The now-Associate Special Class Sasaki Haise and the ghoul he’d left rotting in Cochlea are proof of this. But as Special Class Matsuri’s “dog,” chasing after promotions and his own selfish goals, is he really no different?

At least Shirazu had died a human. Urie wonders if the same could be said for him when his time comes.


End file.
